


calm down, cupcake

by rhymeswithpi



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Gen, How Do I Tag, Platonic Soulmates, World of Ruin, because let's face it do i write anything else, i used this title because fuck titles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24567001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithpi/pseuds/rhymeswithpi
Summary: Who needs a soulmate, anyway? She’s Aranea fucking Highwind, Commodore of the Imperial Army. There’s better shit to do than sit around and wait for someone to come along and make her complete, like she’s only part of a person until someone happens to wander by and fill in the gaps.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	calm down, cupcake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yodepalma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodepalma/gifts), [greyskiesblack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyskiesblack/gifts).



> the platonic soulmate fic no one asked for that was THREE YEARS in the making because i sorta wanted to nope out of existence for a long time  
> and that didn't happen  
> so here you go

Aranea’s soulmark is nothing special. Well, that’s a lie. It’s been nothing but an endless source of frustration as she fought for her place in the Imperial army, the reason behind  _ so many _ sexist jabs and calls to get back in the kitchen, leave the fighting to the  _ real _ soldiers.

Like it’s  _ her _ fault her soulmate apparently loves cake. Well, they’d better not expect her to make any for them; her cooking skills begin and end with warming up pre-made meals, and she’s damn well not learning any new recipes now.  _ Especially _ not after all the bullshit she’s been through because of their mark.

The mark itself is a cupcake. Red velvet, according to Biggs and Wedge, just below her collarbone. Like she cares. It’s a gods-forsaken  _ nuisance _ , and she’d rather just be rid of the damned thing.

Who needs a soulmate, anyway? She’s Aranea fucking Highwind, Commodore of the Imperial Army. There’s better shit to do than sit around and wait for someone to come along and make her  _ complete _ , like she’s only part of a person until someone happens to wander by and fill in the gaps. Romance is for other people, and she wants nothing to do with it. 

It throws her for a loop when she first notices the mark on his arm.  _ His _ arm, because  _ of course _ her soulmate has to be male. Fuck fate, can’t it figure out she likes  _ girls _ ? But sure enough, it’s there, a tiny little dragon, and it’s  _ talking to her _ .

Apparently, her soulmate is none other than the advisor to the prince of Lucis.

If this isn’t some star-crossed warring nations  _ bullshit _ , she doesn’t know what is. The only thing worse would be matching the prince himself, but everyone knows he shares a mark with the Oracle.

Just to add insult to the whole thing, it makes her stumble in battle. The dragon has the gall to  _ laugh _ at her. She already hates  _ it _ , hates the asshole it’s  _ on _ , hates this whole fucking  _ concept _ of soulmates.

So she runs, quips something about it being after hours. Better to retreat and figure out just what the fuck that was than listen to some dickwad of a tattoo laugh at her.

They meet again at Steyliff Grove, and maybe this guy isn’t so bad. Ignis. He’s clearly infatuated with the prince, anyway, and maybe Aranea just  _ imagined _ the dragon talking to her that day. It’s hidden under his jacket, at least. Maybe out of sight, out of mind will work on this, and she can get this job finished without pissing off whatever god decided this soulmate shit was entertaining.

Even if she can hear snickering every time the blond kid makes a bad joke. Ignis remains stone-faced, and she already wants to punch him for being so  _ uptight _ . It has to be hard, though, being in love with someone who doesn’t reciprocate. At least the damn dragon has a sense of humour.

He’s pretty good with a spear, though, and damn near unstoppable with those daggers. When he’s not obsessing over everyone’s health, he’s almost capable of carrying on a conversation that can hold her interest.

Until he catches sight of the prince, and she swears even the stupid dragon sighs.

Poor kid.

She leaves the Empire’s forces without a second thought, tired of the way nothing makes sense. They’re hurting innocent people, the leadership has stopped making  _ any _ sense, and the gods only know what the Emperor is thinking at this point.

Better to help people as a traitor than hurt them as a loyal soldier, especially with the nights growing longer and the daemons growing stronger.

Altissia was all but destroyed in the last conflict, the prince taking on the Hydraen and apparently half the Imperial army. Refugees are flooding out of the city, and when a train limps its way into Tenebrae, she’s hardly surprised when the prince is on board. Of course the army is still after him, and they don’t even  _ care _ how many of their citizens might get hurt in their attempt to capture him.

Something’s changed, the air around them somber. The blond kid isn’t anywhere to be seen. He’s gone missing, something about _‘that_ _rat bastard_ ’ if the big guy - Gladio, she reminds herself - is to be trusted. Ardyn must be up to his usual fuckery, then, but that can’t be everything, can’t explain away how _angry_ they all are.

And then she sees Ignis.

Even the dragon is quiet this time.

The scar over his left eye is still healing, and her heart aches for his loss. The splitting headache she’s had for weeks makes  _ sense _ now.

Like these kids haven’t lost enough in this war.

If she could, she would punch the gods herself for this.

But first, she’s going to find Ignis a proper cane. If he survives this suicide mission into the heart of the Empire, maybe she’ll help him learn how to defend himself properly. What kind of military doesn’t train its elite to fight blind, anyway? It seems like a hell of a gap for someone who’s supposed to be protecting the crown.

She’s barely convinced the last of the refugees to board airships bound for Lestallum when Biggs and Wedge return with the boys.

Well, most of the boys.

The blond kid is back where he belongs, but he can’t manage to crack a smile or make a joke, looks like he’s been through hell and has the bruises to prove it. Gladio just looks defeated.

But Ignis.

Ignis looks  _ devastated _ , and she thinks she can hear the dragon crying.

They’re halfway to Lestallum before she finally gets the story out of them, how they couldn’t stop Ardyn, how Noctis was apparently absorbed into the crystal. Gladio nearly punches a hole in the wall of her ship, Prompto’s on the verge of a breakdown. Those reactions she can  _ understand _ , at least, even if she  _ will _ throw Gladio out the hatch if he tries that again.

Meanwhile, Ignis is just shutting down.

It makes sense, she thinks. He lost his sight  _ and _ his prince - his king - within mere weeks, the world has been plunged into darkness and chaos around him, and she can tell nothing makes sense right now. The dragon, for its part, is mostly silent.

It would be easier if he just got angry. Hell, she’d even take crying over this  _ nothing _ . She leaves them to their grief when Prompto falls asleep on Gladio’s shoulder.

Biggs and Wedge just seem happy to be alive. Something about a swarm of daemons, but they’d left them alone in favour of chasing after the prince and his companions. One of these days, that luck will likely run out, but for now her crew is still together. That’s something to hold onto in these times.

Maybe she’s just getting a bit soft, but Aranea decides she can stick around Lestallum long enough to get Ignis settled. An old medic from Insomnia - Helen - has set up a makeshift clinic there, and she takes one look at the boys before ordering them all to bed. 

She fills in the remaining members of the Crownsguard while sitting in Helen’s tiny apartment. They don’t trust her at first, and that’s fair. She  _ did _ try to kill their prince at one point, was a ranked officer in the army that helped bring the darkness down upon them all. In the end, the people need all capable hands on deck, and she’s not willing to leave the idiots she pulled out of the mouth of hell itself.

The boys sleep for two solid days, and she wants to believe they look less broken when they wake up again. Worn thin and half-starved, maybe, but things have to get better from here. Right?

For now, Lestallum needs her, so she’ll stay. If the dragon  _ asked _ her to stay, begged her not to leave him alone, she’s not going to admit it.

Aranea remembers her promise to get Ignis a proper cane when the dragon curses about tripping over the front step. Ignis doesn’t say a word, refuses any help up, continues pretending he’s  _ fine _ even though he’s clearly not. His friends have thrown themselves into helping the city shore up its defenses, aren’t around enough to see how bad he’s let himself get. Former Kingsglaive members stop by now and then, pausing for a moment of unwanted pity. She glares at them if they linger too long.

She’s getting really sick of cleaning up other people’s messes, but she sits Ignis down at the kitchen table, regardless, pulls her chair up next to his and holds his hand.

“I get it,” she says, speaking to the dragon on his arm. “Life dealt you some shitty cards.  _ Really _ shitty cards. But you need to stop  _ mourning _ him and get back to living. You’re no good to any of us dead.”

Ignis lifts his head. Good. That got a reaction out of him. That’s more than she’s managed in the last couple months, more than  _ anyone’s _ managed, really. Then again, everyone’s been walking on eggshells around him since they got here. Fuck the eggshells. The time for being cautious is gone, and she’s fucking sick of waiting for him to snap out of it so she can get back to helping other people.

“He’s not dead. I think you know that. He’s just… missing. For now. And one of these days or years or whatever, he’ll come back to be the saviour you all know he’s destined to be, and he’ll need his friends by his side. So get your ass in gear. He wouldn’t want this.  _ I  _ don’t want this.”

The dragon whispers a tiny  _ ‘yessss’ _ .

Ignis squeezes her hand, just barely, nods.

She can’t even be pissed at herself for talking about destiny, or for admitting she cares about this idiot. 

“Guess I didn’t  _ see _ this coming,” he mutters.

The dragon is snickering. Did this motherfucker  _ seriously _ just make a blind joke? A really  _ bad _ blind joke?

Fuck it. It’s a start. She’ll take a million blind jokes if he stops acting like a fucking  _ ghost _ .

She hands him the new cane and claps him on the shoulder. She has shit to do, and none of it will get done if she sits here. Especially not if she wants to meet up with that woman from the power plant later, and she hasn’t been on a date since before the damn war.

“Figure that shit out,” she says, “and we’ll see about teaching you to fight again.”

She comes back two days later - it was a hell of a date, really - to find Ignis in the kitchen, Helen patiently talking him through where the tools and ingredients are. The new cane is leaning up against the counter, and she can hear the dragon  _ thanking _ her.

If he’s going to learn to cook again, maybe it’s best he does it in the medic’s home. Easy access to first aid, if nothing else. Which he’s clearly needed more than once, based on the bandages on half his fingers.

At least he’s doing  _ something _ .

Gladio and Prompto are clearly shocked when they stumble through the door. She winks at them, and the smile on Prompto’s face is almost enough to make this bullshit worth it.  _ She _ helped get Ignis back, instead of hurting people she should’ve saved.

She’s done something good. It's a far cry from forgiveness for what she'd done for the Empire, but it's a start. 

Before long, the kitchen is full of voices, full of  _ jokes _ , and they can almost pretend the last few months didn’t happen. Almost.

Ignis is  _ tired _ when he finally sits down at the table with the rest of them. The dragon is practically crowing with delight, despite how exhausted they all must be. It’s starting to drown out the rest of the conversation, and she just wants it to  _ shut up _ for half a second so she can excuse herself. They all need sleep, especially if they’re going to take on that hunt the next day, but there’s no space for her to interject with the dragon filling her mind with  _ everything _ .

“No one asked you, Karen,” she snaps.

The room falls silent as she claps her hand over her mouth.

“Karen?” Helen asks. “Who’s Karen?”

Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Ignis carefully reaches over to her, pries her hand away from her mouth.

“I believe she’s referring to my soulmark,” he says.

Like that’s a perfectly fucking  _ normal _ thing to do, just address someone’s soulmark like it’s -

“Wait,” she says. “You  _ knew _ ?!”

Ignis shrugs, looking more exhausted than he has since they first got to Lestallum, and she can’t help but think she’s fucked  _ this _ up, too, just when he was starting to get less  _ bad _ , she’s gone and shut him down again.

Well, at least she doesn’t have to worry about how to gracefully exit and get to bed. Everyone else figures out what’s going on way faster than she does, shuffles off to whatever places they call home these days.

Leaving them alone in Helen’s kitchen.

Shit.

“You knew,” she says again. “How long have you known?”

Ignis sighs, and the damned dragon sighs with him. She can practically feel him shutting down again.

“Ignis. Now’s not the time to shut me out.”

He fidgets with his shirt sleeve, tugs it down to cover the dragon. She resists the urge to reach over and uncover it. At least the dragon is  _ honest _ , and it doesn’t fuck around like this.

That’s not fair, and she knows it. Ignis has been through a lot in the last several months, and she honestly doesn’t  _ know _ him that well. There’s no reason for him to open up to her. Hell, the first time they’d met, she’d actively tried to kill him  _ and _ his friends. It’s not his fault his soulmark wants to tell her everything.

Destiny is a fucking bitch.

The following weeks are a struggle, at best. Ignis makes slow progress -  _ infuriatingly _ slow, if the dragon has any say about it - but it’s still progress. Even if every so often there’s a torturous backslide and Ignis doesn’t get out of bed for a couple days.

He’s  _ trying _ , though, and all she can do is try to make sense of emotions that aren’t her own. Her head is filled with them now that Ignis has acknowledged this stupid twist of fate, and the dragon hardly stops talking to her when he’s having a good day. 

The days the dragon is silent are the worst, when Ignis has shut down everything and barely goes through the motions. It would be so much easier if she could just  _ leave _ and get back to what she’d planned on doing, get back to hunting down daemons and helping people who need her.

Maybe the others have the luxury of escaping and  _ doing something _ when they can’t handle propping Ignis up through another funk, but the silence eats away at her.

So she sits at Helen’s kitchen table, instead, wasting long hours talking with whoever happens to be there, playing cards and telling stories about the marks they’ve taken down, and waits until the dragon starts getting annoyed before dragging Ignis out of bed. Sometimes they luck out and it doesn’t take more than a day to get him back on his feet, but more often than not it’s several days spent in the tiny kitchen, drinking an inadvisable amount of tea.

She misses coffee the most, she decides. Canned meats and anemic vegetables can be tolerated, but tea is a piss-poor substitute for coffee on a good day.

He asks to touch her soulmark so quietly that she almost writes it off as the dragon mumbling in her mind. She’s been glaring at her cup of tea for the better part of the afternoon, cursing it for not tasting better, cursing the lack of  _ sugar _ or anything to make it palatable. Ignis hasn’t even touched his.

Aranea moves to the chair next to him, takes his hand gently, guides it to her collarbone.

“It’s here,” she says, “and before you ask, it’s a god forsaken cupcake.”

“Of course it is,” he mutters. “Red velvet?”

“I’m not making you any. Even if we could get the right ingredients, the kitchen deserves better than my disastrous ass failing to cook.”

It made sense to start Ignis off training with his friends. He’s more used to sparring with them (even if he hasn’t touched a weapon in almost a  _ year _ ), and it lets Aranea sit back and watch, lets her learn what his biggest weaknesses are. So far, it seems most of his problems stem from being  _ blind _ .

Which is fair, really. He’s never had to rely entirely on his other senses before this. It still seems like a major flaw in his initial training, but there’s clearly some reason behind it.  _ Gladio _ can fight blind, after all. As can his little sister, and the majority of the other Crownsguard she’s met,  _ all _ of the remaining Kingsglaive. They wouldn’t just  _ skip _ that, not when they were charged with defending royalty.

It’s just stupid mistake after stupid mistake at this point. Gladio’s even taking it easy on him, but Ignis is still fucking up at every possible opportunity. He’s knocked to the ground  _ again _ , and all she can hear from the dragon is a litany of swearing.

Fuck, why is  _ she _ getting anxious over this?

Son of a bitch, that means  _ he’s _ getting anxious.

Gladio seems to have arrived at the same conclusion without the benefit of the dragon invading his mind, kneeling just shy of Ignis’ reach and saying something she can’t quite make out. All she can do is hover uselessly by the light post, watch as Ignis remembers how to breathe properly.

The dragon is calling for her, so soft she can hardly hear it, but Gladio’s helping Ignis back to his feet. There’s no place for her in this, not when she has no idea what to do or how to help. Maybe she can find the time later to ask Gladio for some advice, but right now all she has is a panicky dragon in the corner of her mind and no clue how to make this ok.

It takes hours to calm Ignis down again, and he doesn’t really relax until Gladio stands up to leave. She can see the tension melt out of his shoulders, can almost  _ feel _ it when the dragon sighs.

They sit quietly for a while longer before Ignis pushes away from the table, starts feeling through the cupboards.

“I have to ask,” Ignis says. “Why a dragon?”

The question floors her. Unlike the people she’d grown up with, she’d never bothered to spend much time thinking what mark would speak to her. It didn’t  _ matter _ , not when she’d spent so long convinced she didn’t have a soulmate, then later convinced she would  _ hate _ her soulmate for the fucking cupcake mark.

“I guess I’ve always… admired dragons,” she says, finally. “They kick ass, are damn near unkillable, and breathe  _ fire _ .”

“And aside from being almost entirely fictitious, they’re solitary creatures who don’t need anyone.”

Shit. He’s more observant than she’d thought, but that  _ was _ his job.  _ Is _ his job? Regardless, it shouldn’t surprise her that he’s got this all figured out. He probably spent  _ ages _ puzzling out the kind of person he would one day meet. It’s almost infuriating, the way he can spit such truths like they’re nothing, all while chopping vegetables. 

“So how about you?” she asks. “Why cake?”

“I don’t know,” he says, shrugging. “I just like cake.”

The dragon has the gall to  _ laugh _ at that.

She groans, lays her head on the table. Of  _ course _ he just likes cake. Soulmate or not, Ignis is a god damned  _ troll _ , but punching him after the day he’s had just seems impolite.

Their first hunt together isn’t much of a hunt. It’s more a careful patrol just outside the city gates, and she can see the city the entire time. They barely even leave the reach of the artificial lights, but Ignis had to start  _ somewhere _ , had insisted on getting out there. Better to start small, start  _ safe _ , where a cry for help can be answered quickly should something go wrong.

His friends had objected to this.  _ Loudly _ . She knows she’ll likely catch an earful from them later, when they’re all sitting around Helen’s kitchen table, but it will be worth it.  _ Is _ worth it, if the excited nervous babbling from the dragon is anything to go by.

Ignis, for his part, is reasonably cautious. If he’d made the mistake of being cocky about it, she likes to believe she would have dragged him back to the barricade, forced him to wait inside while she finished the patrol.

Still, he looks a bit ridiculous, probing the ground with the tip of his lance.

Nothing happens. No daemons, no monsters,  _ nothing _ .

Ignis at least has the decency to look relieved, the dragon sighing softly as they cross back into the city.

She’s fucked up, and she’s fucked up  _ bad _ .

‘ _ Just a few imps _ ’ on the road had turned out to be an entire  _ nest _ of the damned things, and the fight had attracted a giant. The kid who had come out with her bolted at the first sign of trouble, dropped his weapons and  _ ran _ , leaving her to her fate. The giant’s appearance prompted her to follow, cursing the entire way.

Fuck fate. Fuck that kid. Fuck  _ imps _ , especially the fucker that managed to catch her leg before she could get away. Maybe she should’ve listened to Ignis, waited until more hunters were back from their patrols before going out on this one. Especially with a fucking greenie in tow, but she was capable of taking care of herself.

Fine, she may have a few regrets about this decision. Not that she’ll ever admit that to Ignis.

Her leg gives out, still bleeding freely from the gash running down her thigh, and there’s no way she’s getting up and running again. She can hear the giant down the road, can see the lights of the city not too far away. Too far to hear her yell, definitely too far to  _ crawl _ to safety.

Way too close to lure in a daemon of this size without someone there to dispatch it.

The greenie better be dead, because she’ll kill him herself for this if she survives.

Standing up is a whole new form of agony, even leaning heavily on her lance. If nothing else, maybe she can delay the fucking thing long enough for one of the lookouts to spot it, give them a chance to raise the alarm before there’s a fucking red giant knocking at their door. It’s closer now, dragging its sword along the ground, close enough she can make out its face.

She’s pretty sure she’s going to die.

There’s the roar of an engine, headlights behind the daemon. It balks at the light, falters as it hefts its sword for the attack, attention blissfully on  _ someone else _ . It only takes the new arrivals a few minutes to take the monstrosity down.

It’s all she can do to cling to her lance and stay upright, can’t even muster her voice to thank them for saving her ass.

“Come on, kid,” one of them says. “Ignis will kill you if you come back dead.”

She doesn’t even have the energy to protest being called a kid, lets them lift her into the back of their truck. Ignis will just have to  _ deal _ with it, she’s taking a nap.

Waking up again  _ sucks _ , and she can’t remember the last time she hurt this much. The dragon muttering ‘ _ I told you so _ ’ repeatedly isn’t helping, which means Ignis is at least nearby. He’s probably going to kill her for getting into this mess. 

The cot she’s laying on is dreadfully uncomfortable, almost too small for her, and her leg  _ aches _ . But something smells incredible, reminding her she hasn’t eaten since well before she left to clear out the imps. She can hear someone moving around on the other side of the room, soft footfalls against the wooden floor, gentle taps on what she can only assume is the countertop.

Might as well open her eyes, then, and figure out where she is.

It proves to be a mistake, and she snaps them shut against the artificial lights and forming headache.

“Sorry,” Ignis says. “I would’ve been fine in the dark, but we thought you might appreciate being able to see where you were.”

“Could’ve at least  _ dimmed _ the damn things,” she mumbles.

“Great idea in theory. Not so much in practice.”

Right. The asshole’s blind. He’s silent for a few minutes, floorboards creaking under his feet. After a bit, a chair scrapes across the floor next to her, a warm hand finds her upper arm.

“Is that better?”

She cracks an eye open, nodding. Ignis looks like he expects an answer, and it takes her a minute to remember he’s  _ blind _ . How does she keep forgetting this? The dragon giggles.

“Afraid you’ll have to use your words, cupcake.”

“Fuck you,” she grumbles. “And stop calling me cupcake.”

They’re silent for a bit, stretching into what feels like an eternity. Ignis offers her a hand, helps her sit up, tenses every time she shifts and there’s a new stab of pain in her leg. The dragon grumbles, and she’s struck by an overwhelming sense of  _ guilt _ . If she’d only  _ listened _ , she wouldn’t be in this mess, would at least be able to take care of herself, wouldn’t have to rely on a blind man to help her with something as simple as sitting up.

A timer dings from the other side of the room. Ignis picks his way over to it, rummages around in the cupboards for a minute. It’s easier not to watch, so she focuses on the worn-out t-shirt she’s wearing. It’s not even  _ hers _ , and she has to wonder where it came from. It’s a question for a later time, she decides, and she shuffles back on the cot so she can lean against the wall.

Which only serves to make her keenly aware that she’s not wearing pants.

It makes sense, given the location of her wound and how heavily bandaged her thigh is, but that doesn’t make it any  _ better _ knowing she’s sitting in someone else’s kitchen  _ without pants _ . There’s not even a fun story behind it, no morning-after awkward breakfast. She’s tucking the blanket back around her waist when Ignis returns with a bowl of food. It’s nothing fancy, something likely out of a can, paired with some anemic vegetables from one of the artificial farms. She’s  _ hungry _ . It smells good, if nothing else, and Ignis all but forces it into her hands before fetching his own.

He stays on the other side of the kitchen while they eat.

The tension in the air is almost worse than being injured.

She picks at her food, annoyed when her stomach decides it’s full a few bites in. It’s been at  _ least _ a day since she’s eaten - she’s still not entirely sure how long she was out - and she was hungry a minute ago.

Maybe she can just blame it on the anxiety that isn’t entirely her own. Ignis is scowling at his meal. Definitely not her own, then. She almost misses it when he finally breaks the silence.

“Tell me what happened,” Ignis says. “Please.”

So she does. She tells him about walking right into a nest of imps, the greenie abandoning her, the fucking  _ giant _ showing up. Getting injured, running despite it, making a desperate stand in hopes of protecting the city, hoping for the off chance someone might notice before it was knocking on the gates. Having her ass saved by passing hunters.

The dragon is  _ hissing _ . Ignis looks like he’s about to stab his own thigh with his fork. Before she can say anything more, maybe apologise for being stubborn, he shoves away from the table and storms out. The front door slams behind him, and she’s left alone.

In someone else’s kitchen.

_ Without pants _ .

She wakes with a start, suddenly aware of someone else in the room. Prompto nearly drops the bowl he’s holding.

“Oh. Um. S-sorry,” he stammers. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

She shrugs and tries to work the kink out of her neck. Of  _ course _ she had to fall asleep sitting up. Might as well add that to her growing list of annoyances with this whole situation. Prompto sets his bowl down on the counter before rummaging in a cupboard for a minute.

His goatee looks  _ ridiculous _ , but she doesn’t know Prompto well enough to make fun of it. If Ignis - right. Ignis isn’t here, and she has no idea where he’s managed to run off to this time. She picks idly at a bit of fuzz stuck to the blanket.

“Do you… happen to know where Ignis went? He just  _ left _ .”

Prompto shrugs, doesn’t look at her as he hands her a glass of water. Is he  _ blushing _ ? It’s hard to tell in the dim light, especially since he won’t stop staring at the ceiling. 

“What? Is there a spider or something? I’m not killing it for you this time.”

“No, it’s - the. Well. Your blanket… shifted. A bit.”

She looks down. Son of a  _ bitch _ . At least she’s wearing underwear, and it’s not like people  _ haven’t _ seen her in various states of undress over the years. She tucks the blanket back around her waist, takes the glass. Prompto retreats to the other side of the kitchen, washes his bowl without another word.

Where the hell is Ignis? She doesn’t even have an accurate way to figure out how long it’s been since he stormed out. The leftovers were packed away and shoved in the tiny fridge before she woke up again, dishes cleaned and put back. Even the bowl she hadn’t finished isn’t anywhere to be seen.

Maybe she can just get off this cot and go look for him herself, she decides, changes her mind seconds later when she tries to move her injured leg.

Maybe she can just sit here and keep being  _ useless _ , all while trying very hard not to move.

It wasn’t this bad earlier. It  _ couldn’t _ have been this bad. Then again, she hasn’t actually  _ seen _ how bad it is under the bandages, and there’s every possibility they’d shoved her full of whatever painkillers they could find when the hunters had dropped her off.

She lays a hand gently over the bandages, barely touching the blanket. 

“You don’t need to worry about Iggy,” Prompto says. “He’ll come back sooner or later. He always does.”

She’s about to object because worrying about this blind moron is basically her  _ job _ now, but Prompto’s having none of it. Ignis clearly taught him a thing or two about how to wield a spoon, even if he  _ does _ look hilarious when he’s trying to be threatening. Must be the scruffy goatee. It certainly doesn’t scream ‘ _ fear me _ ’. Not that a dinky metal spoon is all that dangerous in the grand scheme of things, either; Ignis usually goes for a wooden one. It’s easier to just let Prompto have this one.

The sound of the front door opening interrupts his failed attempt to chastise her (and really, he’s ten years younger, why is he even  _ trying _ ). Her stomach clenches uncomfortably, but Helen bustles into the room. Not Ignis.

She’s not entirely sure if she’s disappointed.

Sitting around  _ sucks _ . No one has time to keep her company, and there’s  _ still _ no sign of Ignis. Not that she has a particularly great grasp on time, only aware that small things have changed while she dozes. Dishes appear on the counter, then disappear by the next time she’s awake. Sometimes she’ll wake up laying down when she  _ knows _ she fell asleep sitting up. A tray table appears next to the cot at some point, the glass on it gets refilled whenever she bothers to empty it.

Based on how much her leg hurts, it can’t have been more than a day. Two, at most. It feels like it’s been  _ weeks _ , though, weeks without anyone talking to her for more than a minute or two. Weeks without Ignis, without that stupid dragon and his gods-forsaken emotions occupying a corner of her mind.

But Helen’s poking at her, practiced fingers spreading yet another salve or poultice or  _ something _ over the stitches in her thigh. At least, she thinks it’s Helen. No one else seems willing to touch her without warning, and she hasn’t exactly announced she’s awake yet. Prompto’s having a quiet conversation with someone on the other side of the room, voices catching on the edge of her hearing but failing to make enough sense to figure out what they’re talking about.

“He can feel it when you’re in pain, you know.”

Iris perches on the edge of the table like she  _ didn’t _ just drop a bombshell, feet swinging in the air. 

“It’s how he knew you were in trouble,” she continues. “Insisted we had to send help. He would’ve run out there himself, if we hadn’t managed to get someone to respond when they did.”

The room falls silent, and fuck, everyone is  _ staring _ at her. Iris takes no notice of the attention, continues swinging her feet, talking about nothing anyone will remember later. Everyone else has the luxury of quietly leaving the room, of being able to stand without remembering just how  _ stupid _ they were.

She’s been staring at Iris for several minutes before Iris finally notices everyone else has left and hops down from the table.

“Gladdy called earlier. Iggy’s in Hammerhead with him. They don’t know when they’ll be back.”

And all she can do is watch as Iris leaves, too.

There’s a set of tags sitting on the kitchen table, and the fear that it’s someone she  _ knew _ is what drives her to stand up. It’s not, and she doesn’t recognize the name. She turns the tags over a few times before the pieces fall into place.

She never actually learned the kid’s name, can’t even remember if she’d asked for it before they set out. Yeah, maybe she was a bit pissed when he’d booked it instead of standing his ground, but she definitely didn’t want him  _ dead _ .

It’s her fault. She should’ve waited for more information, waited for more hunters.

Someone’s cleaned the tags. There’s a tiny trace of blood on the chain, hardly enough for anyone to notice. 

It takes longer than she’d like to admit to find the kid’s house, especially after the third wrong turn led her down the  _ same damn alley _ three separate times. The door is answered by a girl who can’t be more than twelve, and there’s not a damn adult in sight. 

“I should have waited,” she says. “Waited for backup. It was a stubborn, idiotic move, going out there when we did. I thought I could handle it. He shouldn’t… he should be here. With you. It’s my fault.”

The girl doesn’t seem mad at her, at least. It would make more sense if she  _ was _ . Aranea could handle anger. Why does no one just get  _ angry _ about things these days? Fuck, she’s tired. She’s tired and her leg hurts, new skin pulling tight, and Helen’s going to have a field day when she gets back.

Just once, she wants someone to have a reaction she  _ understands _ . But the world doesn’t make sense these days. All she can do is press the tags into the girl’s hand and walk away, leave her to grieve however she wants. Let  _ her _ else tell the rest of the kid’s family. It feels like running away, like refusing to deal with the problem, but she’s just so damn  _ tired _ , and the stupid cot in Helen’s kitchen is calling her.

It’s quiet without Ignis. The city is never truly quiet, really, but there’s something not right without the dragon whispering in the back of her mind, without Ignis and his stupid  _ feelings _ taking up space. It’s been  _ weeks _ without him, actual weeks that have dragged on like years. Gladio had returned to Lestallum without him, offering little more than a shrug when she’d asked where Ignis was. 

She spends her afternoons with Biggs and Wedge, and it almost feels like the old days, the days before the Emperor lost his mind, before the sun disappeared and night took over. Gladio and Prompto drift in and out of town between hunts. It takes a few months before she goes out on her own again, long months spent patrolling the borders with the newbies, making sure no one else makes the same dumbass mistake she did.

But there’s still no news of Ignis. She likes to think she’d  _ know _ if something happened to him, but soulmarks are unpredictable at best. No news is good news, supposedly. Someone will probably tell her if it’s something she needs to know.

It’s been almost a year before a job takes her to Hammerhead, a year spent healing and training, making sure the new hunters know not to make the mistake she made, a year spent without more than shrugs and whispers about Ignis. Sure, she could’ve just made the trip out here and demanded answers. It would’ve been easy to hitch a ride with one of the supply trucks, just like she’s doing now.

But there’s daemons to hunt, and no spare energy to waste on anxiety over a chance of seeing Ignis again. Not that it matters, because he’s nowhere to be found when the truck finally pulls in. She takes a minute to help unload the truck, listens to the idle gossip around the camp before tracking down the old coot who requested backup. Cid, or something. Definitely didn’t get distracted by Cindy.  _ Absolutely _ did not slip Cindy her phone number for the next time she ends up in Lestallum.

She zones out as Cid rambles on about the target, daydreams a bit about a world without the eternal night where she could just spend time flirting with pretty girls again.

“Alright,” she says, sighing. “Who am I backing up?”

“Oh, that blind bastard’s already out there. Couldn’t talk him out of it,” Cid says. “Left this morning. At least, I think it was morning. Damn darkness makes it hard to tell.”

There’s a twist in her chest, and she’s running before Cid can waste any more time, pauses only for a moment to heft her spear out of the supply truck.  _ Ignis _ . The gate’s barely open enough for her to squeeze through by the time she gets to it, and the guards slam it shut the second she’s clear.

She’s just far enough away to make it awkward to turn back when she realizes she has  _ no idea _ where she’s meant to be going. But she’s been trained for this, trained long before the night fell and the world went to shit, forces herself to stop and take a moment to collect herself when she hears it, feels a gentle tug, feels someone else’s energy. She follows it, lets it lead her through the desert towards the glow of a haven, picks up the pace at the sound of a battle.

The dragon is downright  _ gleeful _ , fills a part of her mind left quiet for far too long. Ignis is a sight to behold in the soft glow of the haven’s runes, clearly holding his own against what might be an iron giant, if it weren’t twice the size of an iron giant. She falls into place next to him, helps tip the scales, smiles as the daemon dissolves into nothing.

Ignis is already walking away when she turns to say something to him, picking his way up the hill to the haven. She’s not sure if she wants to hug him or slap him, honestly, because  _ how fucking dumb _ is he to just run off into a fight alone? The irony isn’t lost as she makes her way up to a small campsite. Ignis pauses at the camp stove, pours something into a cup before handing it to her and sitting heavily in the lone chair.

_ Coffee _ . The bastard somehow found coffee.

“Don’t get used to it, cupcake,” he says. “Soulmate perk.”

“Don’t call me cupcake,” she snaps before taking a sip.

It tastes like disappointment and burnt cardboard, but it’s a far sight better than the Six-forsaken tea they’re always shoving at her in Lestallum. All the things she’d planned on saying if she happened to run into Ignis slip away, all the harsh words and anger at a year of silence. The dread she’d felt since leaving Hammerhead fades, settles into something comfortable and familiar. She sits on the ground, clutching her cup like the delicate lifeline it is.

“Glad to see you, too,” he says, sipping at his own cup.

And maybe this is alright, after all, this soulmate bullshit.

**Author's Note:**

> now maybe if we're lucky i'll finally finish that fic about iggy accidentally joining the altissian mafia  
> but don't hold your breath


End file.
